Read Online The Very Picture of You by Isabel Wolff - Free Book Online

didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
    ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said flatly as she reached the bottom step. ‘I was on the phone. So…’ She gave me a restrained smile. ‘You’re here to paint me.’
    ‘Yes,’ I said, taken aback by her clear lack of enthusiasm. ‘Your husband said it’s to celebrate your birthday.’
    ‘It is.’ She heaved an anxious sigh. ‘If hitting the big “Four O” is a cause for “celebration”.’
    ‘Well, forty’s still young.’
    ‘Is it?’ she said flatly. ‘I only know that it’s when life is supposed to begin. So…’ She drew her breath through her teeth. ‘We’d better get on with it then.’ You’d have thought she was steeling herself for root-canal treatment.
    ‘Mrs Burke—’
    ‘Please.’ She held up a hand. ‘Celine.’
    ‘Celine, we can’t start until you’ve chosen the size of canvas. I’ve brought along three…’ I nodded at them, propped against the skirting board. ‘If you know where the portrait’s going to hang, that’ll help you decide.’
    She stared at them. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’ She turned to me. ‘My husband’s sprung this on me – I would never have thought of having myself painted.’
    ‘Well… a portrait’s a nice thing to have. And it’ll be treasured for generations. Think of the Mona Lisa ,’ I added cheerfully.
    Celine gave a Gallic shrug then pointed to the smallest canvas. ‘That one is more than big enough.’
    I picked it up. ‘Now we need to choose the background – somewhere where you’ll feel relaxed and comfortable.’

    She blew out her cheeks. ‘In the drawing room then, I suppose. This way…’
    I followed her across the hall into a large yellow-papered room with a cream carpet and French windows that led on to a long walled garden, at the end of which a huge red camellia was in extravagant flower.
    I glanced around the room. ‘This will be fine. The colour’s very appealing, and the light’s lovely.’
    On our left was an antique Knole sofa in a dark-green damask. The sides were very high, almost straight, and were secured to the back with thickly twisted gold cord, like a hawser. Celine sat on the left-hand side of it then smoothed her dress over her knees. ‘I shall sit here…’
    I studied her for a moment. ‘I’m sorry, but that won’t look right.’
    Her face clouded. ‘You said I should feel comfortable – this is .’
    ‘But the high sides make you look… boxed in.’
    ‘Oh.’ She turned to look at them. ‘I see. Yes… I am, as you say, boxed in. That is perfectly true.’ She stood up then looked around. ‘So where should I sit?’ she added petulantly.
    ‘Perhaps here…?’ To the left of the fireplace was a mahogany chair with ornately carved arms and a red velvet seat. Celine sat in it while I moved back a few feet to appraise the composition. ‘If you could just turn this way,’ I asked her. ‘And lift your head a little? Now look at me…’
    She shook her head. ‘Who would have thought that sitting could be such hard work?’
    ‘Well, it’s a joint effort in which we’re both aiming to get the best possible portrait of you.’ Celine shruggedas though this was a matter of sublime indifference to her. I held up my hands, framing her head and shoulders between my thumbs and forefingers. ‘It’s going to be great,’ I said happily. ‘Now we just have to decide what you’re going to wear.’
    Her face fell. ‘I’m going to wear this —’ She indicated her outfit.
    ‘It’s lovely,’ I said as I considered it. ‘But it won’t work.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Because the belt’s so big and shiny that it will dominate the picture. If you could wear something a little plainer…’
    ‘Are you saying I have to change?’
    ‘Well… it would be better if you did, yes.’ She exhaled irritably. ‘Could I help you to choose? That’s what I usually do when I paint people in their homes.’
    ‘I see,’ she snapped. ‘So you control the